


The One That’s An Ode To Talbot's Fine Arse

by Pforte



Category: To the Ends of the Earth - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pforte/pseuds/Pforte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Summers has two options and two options only. He can either seduce this beautiful, arrogant man-child as soon as possible or he will have to stay out of his way for the rest of the voyage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One That’s An Ode To Talbot's Fine Arse

**Author's Note:**

> This is the slightly overhauled, renamed version of a fic I've written and posted a few years ago.

The rain batters down on all of them but only Talbot is enjoying it, whooping and laughing like a madman. It has never been clearer that he is stuck in the awkward phase between childhood and manhood and that this voyage will determine what kind of man he becomes. Charles’ eyes are on him the whole time, for fear that the high-born fool may go overboard. Yet it is the man’s bum his eyes are inevitably drawn to. Talbot’s legs are well-shaped, his back lean and the right side of angular but his arse is without doubt the most beguiling part. Small, firm and ripe, it looks _perfect_ in the pale moonlight. From where he stands, Charles can see the muscles moving under the blindingly white skin. He licks the rain from his lips and swallows hard because he tastes desire. 

As hard as he tries, he cannot forget the sight, and, when Talbot is properly dressed in once more spotless clothes, his eyes drift downwards and his mind revisits vivid memories he would rather not recall. Charles knows himself, he has two options and two options only. He can either seduce this beautiful, arrogant man-child as soon as possible or he will have to stay out of his way for the rest of the voyage, which may prove difficult since Talbot has taken a liking to him, even holds him in high regard in spite of his lower social standing. 

There is no choice after all.

Of course there is the matter of Talbot’s innocence. A ship is a minuscule world, a small, intimate society of its own, and of course Charles has learnt of Edmund Talbot’s little amorous adventure with Miss Brocklebank. He would feign surprise if Talbot ever deigned to mention it but there is little that Charles doesn’t know. But the shock and disgust that darkens Talbot’s face when he hears the word _buggery_ is the ostentatious display of someone who is wholly ignorant of the matter. A pity, really, because Talbot would have no trouble finding a suitable bed mate among the crew, if only he knew where to look. 

In the end, it is rather easy and doesn’t require any elaborate planning on Charles’ part. Talbot is easily bored and he seeks him out more and more often. There are no raised eyebrows when they spend time with each other and especially Captain Anderson is glad to be rid of his well-connected passenger. So when Talbot asks him into his cabin one night and receives him stripped to the waist to show him some strange bug bite and even bends over to give Charles a better look, he decides that enough is enough and closes the door.

“Mr Summers?” Talbot asks. 

“It’s a mosquito bite, Mr. Talbot, nothing more. The only strangeness surrounding the issue is how you acquired it.” They are in the middle of the ocean after all. He steps closer and watches Talbot’s reaction to his proximity. The man’s breath hitches but he does not move away. Good. 

“Mr Summers?” Talbot repeats, voice higher than usual and a little shaky. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs. Moving even closer, Charles can see the thin sheen of sweat on his brow. They share the damp air between them. Talbot smells of perfumed soap and salt, a combination that is as much at odds as the man’s character. 

“I shan’t risk my career over this, shall I, Mr Talbot?” Charles asks. 

“Over what exactly, sir?”

Charles groans in frustration and moves in, pressing his lips against Talbot’s. _Yes._

It appears that Talbot isn’t quite as clueless and unprepared as Charles believed. His muffled protest is as weak as the fight he puts up for a few seconds. Charles grabs his shoulders and deepens the kiss, licks inside Talbot’s mouth, and gets a better taste of what he has been craving for weeks. The creaking of the ship, the waves surging against the cabin and their breathing are the only sounds one can hear for a while and Charles could almost lose himself in this. Almost. 

Eventually, he loosens his grip on Talbot’s arms, then lets his right hand wander, down Talbot’s back, further and further down, until he finally reaches his prize. Talbot tenses, a tremor running through him and they’re so close, so very close, that Charles can feel and taste his every breath. He gives in and squeezes the firm buttocks through the expensive cloth of Talbot’s trousers. Talbot, who groans and rolls his hips against Charles’, leaves him in no doubt about his eager consent. 

Talbot’s chest is smooth and warm against him and Charles can imagine all too well that his arse will feel just like that, smooth and perfect, once he is buried inside him. The thought alone makes the blood rush down into his cock, makes him feel feverish with desire. Talbot, no longer content with being on the receiving end of Charles’ ministrations, fumbles with his trousers, cursing under his breath that this won’t go any faster. Charles smiles and starts on his own clothes, though with more success, since he is used to getting dressed and undressed in a hurry. 

And then they are flush against each other and Talbot seems shocked by his own desire. It is a look that suits him, embarrassment and lust colouring his cheeks. Charles cups one arse cheek and a groan escapes the man, low and raw. 

“You, sir, have a pert and well-shaped bum,” Charles whispers, teasing.

“Summers!” Talbot growls warningly and he blushes down to his chest, angry and flattered at the same time. “For God’s sake, be quiet!”

Charles spins him around and drops to his knees, finally about to fulfil a fantasy that has been haunting him for days on end. He bites one firm cheek, nips on it with his teeth. Talbot is too startled to do anything.

“Mr Summers,” he gasps and of course it is preposterous that they are not on first-name basis yet but it is Talbot’s turn to offer it, not Charles’, and he can eat the man’s arse without addressing him. Holding him firmly in place, he kisses and licks further down until a mortified sound escapes Talbot, and then all there is to hear is the perversely slick push and pull of Summer’s tongue. Talbot pushes back against him in no time, mortification forgotten or put aside. He is as quiet as can be, though his restraint is showing in the tenseness of his body. The man is tight as a bowstring and it is Charles who is doing this to him, Charles’ hands, his fingers, his tongue. 

The hand Talbot puts against the wall to steady himself is trembling and white-knuckled. Charles catches a glimpse of his face and bites his lip at the sight. There is nothing left of the civilised gentleman with the practised manners of his class. Talbot’s eyes are wide and unfocussed, the look of wild abandonment turning him into a stranger. Charles pushes a strangled groan out of him and then another, as he slowly presses inside, his hands holding the white, trembling cheeks apart for his cock. The sight alone would be enough to come right then and there. But Talbot is tight and hot, too, and Charles fights for self-control, as desire spreads white-hot and viscous through him. A careful thrust and Talbot’s knees buckle. It’s not easy to keep steady as it is, the ship riding the waves and they riding the ship. But now, with Charles riding Talbot, with quick snaps of his hips that drive him deeper and deeper into his quavering arse, their footing is precarious. Charles holds him by the hip, sun-burnt hands on brilliantly white skin, and the lush, hot smoothness of his arse fuels Charles’ lust, causing the waves to surge higher and higher. 

And then Talbot pushes back for more penetration, for more of Charles’ cock, and Charles leans in and bites down on his neck to muffle a cry. 

“Fuck,” Talbot hisses, his voice raw and clear-cut. Fuck, he says when Charles’ hipbones cut into his buttocks as he bottoms out in him. Fuck, when his right hand speeds up its movement around his own straining cock. Faster and faster Charles rides him, his cock burying deep in Talbot’s perfect arse. His vision blurs as sweat trickles down his brow from the exertion. But he cannot let go of Talbot’s hips, likes to feel the muscles in his arse flex as they both find a satisfying rhythm. Luckily, the ship groans louder than they do, because as much as he tries, Charles cannot keep silent. And Talbot, Talbot hiccoughs high moans and breathless gasps, as Charles fucks him hard against the wall. It cannot last, of course it can’t. Charles loses himself in rhythm and friction and this perfect, all-consuming heat, the waves surging higher and higher, until they reach the breaking point and Charles tumbles over the edge. Then he is falling, the white noise and intensity of breakers crashing down on him and blacking out everything else. 

They collapse in a heap of sweaty limbs. Labouring for every breath, Charles glances over to Talbot, whose eyes are closed and who looks thoroughly shagged out for all the world to see. But only Charles does. His craving is well-satisfied and his hand still rests on Talbot’s bum, almost possessively. 

Eventually Talbot stirs. His composure is back and Charles admires him for slipping back into his role so easily. The skin around his lean hips is already darkening, the pattern recognisable to the bare eye. The mosquito bite on his back disappears under one of his white shirts all too quickly. Charles is sorry to go but go he must. He follows suit and dresses quickly, the two of them trying to avoid each other’s elbows while buttoning shirts and straightening waistcoats. 

“Mr Summers?” Talbot’s low, dark voice sounds unnaturally loud in the tiny cabin.

“Yes?” 

“Call me Edmund.”

With a smile, Charles smoothes out his uniform, the other hand already on the door. “All right, Edmund. Then I insist that you call me Charles.”

Whistling, he goes back on deck. The remainder of the voyage promises to be entertaining. 

 

_Fin_


End file.
